I’ve been complaining how quiet the sunsets have been lately, meaning you have to intentionally head to a west view to actually catch color and flash. If you don’t set the moment aside, the light quietly slips into grey and then the day is gone and it’s time to turn on the light.
Last night I decided that since it had been raining to just call the sunset a wash. I didn’t want to have to walk anywhere, and I had a small window of time before a meeting to get some things done (tasks tasks tasks).
There I was writing and worrying at my computer. Hunched over the blue screen while the sunset began to dance the flamenco behind me, swirl and flare, clap and scarlet. Sensing that something was in the room, I turn for a moment, and my entire window was burning. I guess the sunset was “ignore me will you?”
I can only say this in cliche: I gasped, leapt from my chair, rushed to the front door, fumbled with the lock, knocked a bowl full of matchbooks off the mantle and across the floor. It’s that moment when you see or hear something that gives you a body response before your conscious mind catches up.
Every molecule of air was lit. Tangible glow like being submerged in lava. It clung to me. I could drag my hand through the light and leave a wake like biofluorescent organisms being activated by a swimmer in the dark Pacific. The cars driving by all had orange trails. The jogger made the air eddy and swirl flame around him.
I almost missed this. This grace. This mercy of a gift undeserved. A desire fulfilled unasked for. This delight. Even now as I sit and type, this moment is still in my skin.